


Ora Pro Nobis

by titC



Series: The Fortnight of Latin Titles [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe's acting skills, Chloe's cop skills, Chloe's many skills, Dan is a good bro, Dan wants to play it cool, Dr Martin is awesome, Ella wants to see true love prevail, F/M, Gen, Trigger Warnings, a few bad etymolygical puns, background Linda/Maze, chloe's general life skills, emo drama queen Lucifer, girl tribe, tweed Lucifer, undercover Lucifer, unsubtle Bible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: A crisis of faith, an epiphany or two, new and old skins, sinners and believers, and many kinds of love.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swankkat (solitarystroll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarystroll/gifts).



> There are some darker background themes, potential trigger warnings listed in the end notes.  
> Thank you very much, Antarctic Echoes, for your beta-ing - even if I didn't follow all of your advice because I'm a contrary person.  
> Swankkat, this is your Lucifer Exchange Gift. I really hope you enjoy it even though it didn't want to cooperate and follow your wishes as well as I wanted it to!

“You know,” Ella said, “sometimes we see things…”

“Yeah.” Chloe could drink to that. Their latest case had been… well. _Harrowing_ , was a word that might fit. It wasn’t their first investigation that had dealt with child trafficking and at least this time they’d had Maze on their side to hunt down the ring leader, so there was that.

Ella kept fidgeting with the little cross around her neck, again and again. She’d been the one to work the longest on the bodies. “I think I need more margaritas.”

“Or something stronger?” Maze waved at the bartender, but Linda firmly ordered them all a round of light beer.

“Did your superior send you to a professional therapist as they should, after that?” Ella shook her head. “Talk to us, then. We’re listening.”

Her fingers were still worrying the thin gold chain, and Chloe thought at this rate it might break before the end of the night. “It’s just… what’s the point? Why so much suffering? I know the big guy’s got a plan; but sometimes it’s hard to keep believing that, to keep believing it’s all for the greater good, you know?”

“He has no plan.” Maze sounded very sure and very dismissive, as she usually was whenever a conversation went on a religious tangent.

“Well. We can’t know, can we?”

Chloe raised her eyebrows at her IPA; Linda had never struck her as a woman of faith. “Maybe you should talk to your priest, Ella,” she said. After all, some of them were good people, right? She still remembered father Frank Lawrence. She tried not to remember the rest of what had happened, of who had been there by her side. She found it hard to be near him these days, after his vanishing-then-reappearing act.

“Yeah, maybe. But…” The necklace snapped. “Ah, fuck.” she threw it down on the bar with a frown. “Right. Who’s down for some karaoke tonight?”

They piled in an Uber and warmed their voices up on the way – at least that’s what they called it; not sure how the driver would put it though.

By the time they’d sung their third song, Chloe had already forgotten Linda’s quick fingers snatching the cross from the bar just as they left.

 

He missed her.

He missed her in his bones, he missed her in whatever was left of soul, he missed her in his everything. He was nothing without her – but then again, he had no right to her. No right to her time, no right to her presence, no right to her kindness. She didn’t know who he was, or maybe she didn’t want to know; in either case it meant it couldn’t be real. Because he was the devil, because she was his father’s tool, because she should be free to make her own choices and he couldn’t be that.

Dr Martin probably expected him to talk about that. He didn’t want to.

“Lux is doing fine,” he finally said.

“That’s good.”

“The new pianist is decent.”

“You’re not playing anymore?”

He shrugged. “I just need more time.”

“What do you need time for?”

Did staring at his wall of booze count as a good answer? Probably not. But one should take their time when choosing one’s drink, right? How did he fill his days before… before? How could this investigating shtick have been so time-consuming? He hadn’t seen it coming. He hadn’t seen _her_ coming, either. And now he wasn’t doing it anymore, and he wasn’t seeing her anymore either, and he didn’t really feel like filling this endless free time with deals or sex. So he drank and chain-smoked and did drugs and played on the upstairs piano, all things he could do on his own. He didn’t want an audience.

“What’s that?” he finally asked.

“What’s what?”

He pointed at his throat. “Are you turning religious now?”

“Ah, that. No, I’m not.”

“Hm. Haven’t seen it before.” He squinted. “At least, not on you. It does seem somewhat familiar.”

“It belongs to Ms Lopez.”

“What is it doing on you?”

“She almost left it behind in a bar and since I didn’t have any pockets to keep it safe, well… Wearing it sounded like a good idea at the time.”

He smiled. It felt like it was the first time in a while. “And then you forgot you were wearing it.”

“I did. Thank you for reminding me. I need to give it back to her.”

“Don’t mention it.” She didn’t remove it though, bizarrely. “Hasn’t she asked to get it back yet?”

“I’m sure she will soon.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you talked to Chloe recently?”

His diversion tactics hadn’t worked, then. Ah, well. Not that he’d expected it to work. “You know I haven’t.”

“Lucifer, as long as you don’t talk to her, it won’t get any better. She deserves to know, don’t you think?”

“Well, why don’t you tell her yourself, then? You’re her friend.”

“So are you.”

“Not anymore, if I ever was.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you actually seeing people, if you’ve stopped going down to Lux and working with the police?”

“What for? Most people only want to have sex with me. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”

“Who would you consider your friend, then?” He shrugged. “Maze?”

“She used to be my demon. Now she’s her own person. She’s made it quite clear.”

“How does that mean she’s not your friend?”

“She lives with… she’s chosen a new life. I’m only tangentially there, at times.”

“What about Dan?” The douche? Was she suggesting he liked the douche? Detective Espinoza wouldn’t give him the time of day now, anyway. “Or Amenadiel? He’s your brother, after all.”

“I hate him.” His voice broke, and he saw something soft and strange in the doctor’s eyes. He looked away and picked up the glass of water on the low table between them. He was parched, that was all. All this talking.

“Ella?”

“I don’t need to spend any more time with my father’s fan club.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Mmm.” He looked at the sky outside. A flock of birds was high up in the sky. Migrating, maybe. Looking for a better place, a better life. They’d come back, too.

“Trixie?”

“She’s eight.”

“She adores you.”

“She probably either forgot my existence or resents me for disappearing.”

“Chloe?” Chl – he shook his head. Why did she insist on talking about her?

“Of course not.”

“All of these people have asked me about you. How you were doing, why you weren’t answering your phone, why you were never home when they called on you. You’re avoiding everyone. They’re worried about you. They care, Lucifer.” He shook his head. The sky was empty now. Not even a single cloud drifting aimlessly, not a single plane cruising high up either. Just, nothing. “You can be angry at someone you love, you know. Because you think they’re making a mistake, because they hurt you, because they’re hurting themselves. It doesn’t mean you love them any less. It only means they care. They wouldn’t be angry, otherwise. Or worried.”

“I’m easy to find. I’m not hiding.”

“They’re just following what they think are your wishes. If you stay silent when they call your name from the elevator, they won’t come looking for you in your bedroom.” That had been Ms Lopez. “If you don’t pick up your phone, they’ll assume you don’t want to talk to them.” The spawn. “If you go back to your car as soon as they find you on a beach, they respect your privacy.” Amenadiel.

He shouldn’t have come back to Los Angeles. Or he should have left again, maybe. For good. Or maybe for hell. He stood up. “I’d better go.”

“I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Will you?” This therapy thing was pointless. Why come back?

“Yes I will.” He nodded with a sigh. At least it gave him something to do.

 

“Hey.” Ella glanced aside and gave a quick nod in answer. “You’re off your game today, hermana.”

“Fuck off, Ricky.” She gave a few more punches into the bag before ripping her gloves off with a grimace.

“You are.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Whatever. Where had she left her bottle?

“Where’s abuelita’s crucifijo?”

“I lost it.”

“What?”

“The chain broke.”

Ricardo sighed. “What happened?”

“Why the sudden interest, Ricky? I told you, you’re safe from the LAPD regarding the ZX3. You helped save one of their officers, they’re closing their eyes.”

“I know, it’s just…” He ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I’m worried, ok? About you.”

Damn, she’d drunk all her bottle. A fresh one appeared in front her her. “Thanks.”

“I just thought, I’ve been a shitty brother, you know?”

“Yep, I’ve noticed.” She drank half the water in one go. “What changed your mind?”

“Well, I found out you’ve been training here, and then I tried to talk to you but you didn’t come for a week and today you’re all…”

“Yeah, well. Shitty week at work.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He bumped her shoulder. “Not gonna suggest we go a few rounds, I’d kick your ass.”

“As if. I was always the best of all of us.” She couldn’t help the grin that stole over her face. She’d followed her brothers to the gym one day long ago, had fun with the jump rope and the bags, and soon was spotted by the trainers there. She’d never competed, but she’d always enjoyed the brutal workouts and yes, she might have been slight and thin but that also meant she was fast and light on her feet. They never saw her punches coming.

“Yeah, you were. But something’s eating at you.” She shrugged. “Going to church afterwards?”

That was the, heh, crucial question, wasn’t it? “Nah.”

“You didn’t lose the cross, did you?”

“A friend has it.”

“Don’t tell me my little sis has a crisis of faith.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

He started to help unwrap her hands. “Some engine tinkering and a couple beers, then?”

As peace offering went, it was a decent one. “An offer I can’t refuse.”

“Qapla’!”

Yes, they’d grown up watching Star Trek reruns. Time to go for a not-sonic shower before playing Scotty with wee bairns at the garage, then.

 

Dan tried to maintain his cool. He was totally, totally cool. Watch him. Unfazed was his middle name. “So you want me to pose as a writer for a religious blog, because I did a year as a theology student. Tell me again why it can’t be Ella.”

“Can’t be me, they’re all sexist grade A assholes. I can be your secretary or assistant, but nothing more.”

He sighed and tried the sad puppy eyes on their boss. “Still, Lieutenant, I don’t think it’s going to cut it. Especially if we’re supposed to buddy up to two of them who hate each other’s guts.”

“That’s why we need another team. Detective Decker suggested an, er… Amenadiel? You can vouch for him?”

“He’s good on religious stuff, yes.”

“But these people are on record for both sexism _and_ racism. Are they going to welcome him?”

Dan really, really tried not to say it. But now hat he’d _thought_ it… “There’s his brother, Morningstar.” A wave of silence spread from him in the Lieutenant’s office. “I mean, he knows this stuff too and he’s worked with us before.”

“Dan. It’s my case.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.” She didn’t want to play his assistant, and even less Lucifer’s. Of course.

“No, you’re right to suggest him. It’s just… I’m not even sure he’ll accept.”

“If you ask him, he will. Especially if you insist on the ‘sticking it up to the religious nuts’ angle.”

“So your advice is to send Decker to him, Ms Lopez?”

She glanced at Chloe. He noticed then Ella didn’t have her usual cross on a chain today. “Yeah. I’ll come with, if you’d rather.”

And that’s how Operation Bad Apple started. (The Lieutenant was very proud of that name, regrettably.)

 

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly if Ella was honest, Lucifer hadn’t really protested. They’d found him at his upstairs bar with his brother, both looking somewhat glum, and his expression had become even more closed-up when he saw who his visitors were. But as soon as Chloe said, “We need you. I need you,” he’d slid from his stool and nodded. Of course, he’d grimaced when she’d mentioned the religious bloggers’ seminar and Dan’s presence and the need to _behave_ ; but as soon as she’d finished explaining he vanished into his bedroom and they heard him rummaging into his closet.

There was a weird silence for a few too-long moments while everyone tried to think of something not awkward to say.

“So,” Amenadiel said.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“Are you a method actor too?” Ella asked. The atmosphere was getting to her.

He blinked at her. “No, I… well, I’m not doing much these days. Volunteering here and there.”

“Good thing I’m rich enough to buy you a new Bentley whenever Maze blows yours up!” Lucifer yelled from wherever he’d disappeared into – he sounded muffled, like he was currently under a small mountain of expensive fabric.

“…Bentley? Maze? Blowing up?” Chloe’s voice was a bit faint.

“Yeah, well. Long story. I’m sure she’ll tell you about it one day.”

A very strange Lucifer emerged from his bedroom. He was wearing a somewhat ill-fitting suit and an out-of-fashion tie, was strangely _very_ closely shaven, his hair was definitely less tamed and… Ella narrowed her eyes. Yup. He’d removed his eyeliner – proof he routinely wore some right here on his suddenly naked face. Actors! So vain at times. He looked younger, more, well – more normal. A bit frumpy, a bit gangly, a bit unpolished. He rooted into his pocket and slid thin, wire-framed glasses on his nose.

“What do you think?”

His brother couldn’t stop laughing for five minutes before subsiding into occasional snickering while Lucifer pouted like the drama queen he loved to be and Chloe tried not to smile – and failed. Ella thought the foundations of her own life might be crumbling at the edges these days, but at least she was shoring up her friends’.

 

Two days. They’d spent two days at that conference, two days she spent worried that her mother or Maze would traumatize her little monkey with either auditions or sex toys (or too many knives), and still nothing to pin anything on either of their suspects.

Yes, John Doe (who was, ha ha, a more-or-less Baptist blogger with a love for shitty pseudonyms) kept insisting on the need for purity and fasting, and of course on how women were particularly impure and needed to get rid of anything _he_ deemed extra and a source of sin – shoes and make-up, food and jobs, independence and will… but they had nothing to link him to the five girls who’d starved themselves to death. As for Thomas the Evangelical vlogger who loved being seen and showing off, he was a giant dick who definitely did not lead the life he preached, but there was nothing that would justify sending him to prison. Yet.

Both had been in contact with the victims in their comments, both had encouraged them to fast in the name of god, both had ignored the risk of fostering a pre-existing eating disorder, both had exalted their deaths as proof that asceticism would send you closer to the divine… but in spite of all this, they had nothing to shore up the accusations of murder the families had made. They swore their sister, their daughter had met with them; they swore they’d been to meetings where they’d exalted obedience and privations; but… since the start of the conference, they’d found nothing more than questionable wordings about minorities and doubts about the legality of their finances.

The good thing about such people was that Chloe and Ella were mostly invisible, and so they’d managed to be where they were not supposed to be and see things they were not supposed to see, such as Thomas’ computer opened on a pro-ana website where he apparently loved to talk about how the soul benefited from lack of food and John’s interest in porn – particularly porn with very young-looking actresses (but of legal age, Chloe had checked).

Ella looked more and more disgusted day after day and Chloe was concerned, but every time she tried to talk about it, Ella would start asking about Lucifer and, no. She really, really didn’t want to talk about him if she could avoid it.

They had two rooms next to each other just like Ella and Dan on the floor above, but she hardly ever saw him. While Ella and Dan were pretending to be lovers pretending to only have a professional relationship, Chloe herself was supposedly sent by her own advisor to help a tweed-loving scholar on his trip overseas while picking his brains for her thesis.

Lucifer looked… well, ‘driven’ could fit as a descriptor. He had fully embraced his geeky foreign theology professor persona and kept pestering their suspects with questions about the texts, and “What version are you basing your views on?” and “What about this manuscript?” and “Have you read this book?” and “Have you seen my glasses? I keep losing them!” (most of the guys would redirect him to his assistant, i.e. Chloe herself. She gritted her teeth and performed her best ‘poor hapless student lost in dissertation thoughts’ routine to avoid punching their smug faces).

Meanwhile, _he_ kept avoiding her; and the worst was that she’d seen him quite a few times at the hotel bar with Dan. They played the Oxbridge don lost in the big country / blogger with a small following aspiring to greatness dynamic pretty well. Lucifer – who went at the moment by the much more boring, much less revealing name of Leonard Crown (Dan had rolled his eyes) – had even stopped drinking alcohol for the duration of the four-day-long conference.

Chloe herself went to the underlings’ place on the other end of the road, a run-down, cheap and friendly pub where she and Ella could share their findings and try to plan ahead. And where Ella could be, well, Ella.

“I didn’t know he had actual tweed suits. From Harris! Those are _so_ expensive.”

“Huh?” Chloe wished she had a cocktail, but this wasn’t a cocktail place. She’d have to make do with ordinary beer; it would still serve its purpose anyway.

“You know. Lucifer? In tweed?”

“Very British.” Were pints smaller these days? Or did she drink faster?

“But kind of nerdy cute, yes?”

“Hm.” Definitely smaller. “Found anything on our suspects?”

“Maybe. I mean, still nothing definite, but…” She showed Chloe a few pictures on her phone: John with a few young girls in the hotel lobby, Thomas hovering nearby holding a stack of flyers. For two guys who supposedly hated each other’s guts, they sure seemed to do business together. “I got one of those.” She handed Chloe a folded paper already in an evidence bag. _Fast for God!_ It said. _Find peace and holiness in our program. Follow your sainted sisters’ footsteps!_ After that, a few lines about some holy people who’d stopped eating for the glory of god and ended up being worshiped for it, and some links. She wasn’t sure Catherine of Siena was the right example to follow, but whatever. She wasn’t a believer.

“Might be worth looking into.”

“Yeah. Emailed the pics to the Lieutenant already.”

“Still not enough to pin the victims’ deaths on them.”

“Yeah, but they’re definitely going to court for all their fasting bullshit and seriously shady finances.”

“That’s something, I guess.” But it didn’t feel like it was enough.

She knew it didn’t feel enough for Lucifer either. When he wasn’t debating the finer points of translating from Greek with a suspect so Ella could stumble on an open file on a desk and snap a few photos, improvising a talk on the history of the Scriptures in Anglicanism, or making himself scarce whenever Chloe appeared, she could see that look in his eyes – the one he’d always had when he’d really, really wanted to punish someone. The look that had often prompted her to step in front of him, to put her hand on his arm, to just say – “Lucifer.” Except now, she wasn’t sure it would be welcome, and she wasn’t sure she could stop him.

“Hello? Earth to Chloe?”

“Hm? Ah, yeah, sorry.”

“You’re not over him, are you.”

“What?”

You’re not over him.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure. He’s definitely not over you either.”

“Look, I…”

“You should talk. I mean, really talk. A lot of the dudes back there go out every night to party and drink and, from what Dan said, find some more or less willing women and the occasional man, but they’ve never followed them.” Ella’s lips had a bitter twist that sat strangely on her face.

“This case is really rattling you, isn’t it?”

“Nah, it’s just, I mean. People are just shitty sometimes, you know? And you wonder why. But that’s part of faith, I guess.”

“Like a test?”

“I don’t know. Feels that way sometimes. But!” Chloe looked up a little warily. “More interestingly. Did you know he mentions he won’t accompany them because he’s being faithful?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon, you know what I’m talking about. Even better: he says he’s faithful to a Jane. _Jane!_ ”

“Well, it’s a perfectly British name, I guess.”

“Don’t be dense. He’s not over you, and there’s definitely _something_ , and you have to talk. At least you’ll both know where you stand and what to do.”

“ _I_ don’t have anything to tell _him_. He’s the one who disappeared and came back and avoids me.”

“But why is he not telling you whatever it is he’s not saying?”

“The million dollar question. But I’m not going to waste my breath.”

“Maybe we should stage some sort of drama, tell him you’re in danger; he’d come rushing to your rescue and you wouldn’t need him at all and he’d look at you like he usually does but ten times more; you’d kiss and make up and it would all be very romantic and _at last_ we’d all be rid of you mutual pining.”

“You know what? I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” No she didn’t. “And it would be sweet, anyway. We could do with sweet.”

Yeah, they probably could. She wasn’t going to jump in his arms to make Ella smile, but she’d still try and find a way to cheer her up. Maybe sic Trixie on him, sit back and watch; it was always guaranteed to put a smile on anyone’s face (albeit a slightly sour one on Dan’s, but it was part of the fun).

In the meantime, there was beer.

 

“Man, I really could do with a break right about now.”

“Be strong and have faith, Daniel; the end is nigh.”

“Do you really have to do that?”

“Yea verily.”

“Lu – Leonard, seriously.” The number of times he almost slipped and forgot to use his alias was frankly depressing. It was a good thing that the Det – that there were other police officers who were competent and smart and quick-witted. Lucifer smiled as toothily as he knew how. Of course, the somewhat ill-fitting tweed didn’t help, but still. He _was_ the devil, shoulder seam askew or not.

“I do not understand, Daniel, how you can feel the need to escape this den of lions. We shall soon defang them, and at any rate with a name such as yours you should not fear them.”

“You’re having fun, aren’t you. Anything to prove organized religion is a sham, yeah?”

“It _is_ a sham. they’re pretending to have answers, pretending they can help, pretending they spread love while they’re really not, and they know it. They _do_. Generation after generation, I saw them in droves, stumbling down to hell and wondering what they were doing there, why a place they hadn’t truly believed in actually existed, and why they should be punished anyway. And it starts again and again; there are always those that need their words, those that need to believe; and those crooks use them to their bloody, sometimes literally bloody ends. And I hate, hate, _hate_ all this manipulating they’re doing, all these lies and…” He stopped when he saw the douche’s face. “Sorry.”

Dan was blinking at him. “So… I haven’t seen you this, well, passionate about anything in a while.” Lucifer looked down at his sad, weakly sparkling water. “No, really. Last time was when Chloe was – ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He didn’t answer. “What happened? You’ve been trying to get in her panties since day one and right when it seemed it could happen you turned tail and ran away like a bat out of hell.” A pointy elbow almost dislodged him from his stool. “Look, she really liked you, and you broke her heart, you know?”

“I do. Drop it.”

“No, I won’t. There’s something, yeah? What happened? You can’t have just got cold feet when you were so close to the prize.”

He couldn’t have told you how his fist suddenly ended up tangled in Dan’s shirt, the douche’s face an inch from his. “Do not. Ever. Talk about her. Like that.” He opened his fingers and sat back, returning to the contemplation of the few bubbles that were still trying to rise up to their probably glorious death from the bottom of his glass.

There was a little cough next to him. “Right. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re still carrying a torch and it’s so big you’re burning everyone around you, you know that? And Trixie keeps asking about you. You’re being a selfish jerk.”

“Yes, well, what can I say? Nothing new here.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, least of all Chloe. She deserves answers, and she’ll get them; whether you’re willing to give them or not.”

Someone suddenly clapped heir hands on their shoulders. “So! You seem to be in the middle of a pretty tense conversation, eh? But I have the perfect thing to cheer you right up, fellas. Forget your troubles!” The man turned to Lucifer, his sour breath making him wrinkle his nose. “And you, Leonard, away from your, er, lady love? Yes? That’s how you call it? Maybe you need some special attention, eh?”

He resisted the urge to punch his nose in. Very satisfying, but only briefly so – and the past few days would have been for naught. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. “We are fine here, Reverend.”

“Ah, but are you?” He looked to the douche. “What about dear Daniel, now. Didn’t you say your wife had left you and taken your child with her? Raising her away from the church? Don’t you need some proper comforting to ease your pain?”

“I don’t know. What did you have in mind?” Dan’s eyebrows were doing strange things, and finally he got it. They were here, after all, to investigate; and they probably should not refuse the offer this time, however unsavoury it sounded. He wished he could order a bottle of vodka instead of boring, boring water. Something told him he’d need it.

He saw some money change hands from the corner of his eye, and trailed them to the lift. The Reverend – no, he didn’t deserve the title; he’d just call him Sam. Sweaty Sam. So, Sam let them to one of the underground conference rooms, the cheaper ones. When the door opened, he felt his breath catch in his chest.

The first half was filled with tables and stands, and people were selling, well. Everything. From porn magazines to toys and drugs; clothing of the leather, latex and chains variety; jewellery; and even small animals – a few doves in cages, some mice and hamsters, one guy was selling snakes too. The icing on the cake was the woman in a corner, who was apparently proposing her services to hide money offshore and other probably illegal money laundering schemes.

The second half of the room was hidden behind a dark red curtain, but from the sounds he heard from behind them…

It was all sin. Sin, but not of the fun, consensual and happy kind – the real kind. It was lies, it was exploitation, it was animal torture and manipulation of faithful people, ripping money off their hands and using it for your own pleasure, it was… He tried to breathe slowly, regularly. He could feel his appearance was about to slip, he could feel his skin was about to rip away and reveal who he was; he felt… he felt anger, ire, righteous wrath burning inside of him.

A hand wrapped around his forearm. “Hey. Hey, man, don’t lose it all right? Fuck. Fuck, I’m calling Chloe. Just… don’t lose it, all right?”

Lucifer’s eyes fell on a stand that sold bondage equipment. It was right under a big cross high up on the wall. He took some ropes and started to braid them.

“Hey, Mr, er, Crown?” Ah, yes. Crown. His name tag on the lapel of his jacket. “It’s not free, you know?” The man got a glare for his troubles, and – oh. Well. More than a glare, given the way he stood there, trembling like a leaf.

He’d start with him, then.

 

“What is it? Dan, what – oh god.”

Chloe looked at the scene before her. It had only taken them ten minutes to get there after Dan’s text, but already some people were cowering behind overturned tables, sobbing and whimpering about Satan and mercy and forgiveness. At first, she couldn’t see Lucifer anywhere, even if there was his signature all around them. A few doves were flitting overhead, trying to find a perch away from feet and… snakes. Damn. Half a dozen snakes were outside of their terrarium, shattered on the floor tiles.

“Look,” Ella said, pointing. “Look where they’re going.”

She followed her finger and there she could see him now, crouching near a dark red, moth-eaten velvet curtain. Braided rope was hanging from one hand, and his other was stretched out to the snakes. One started to slither up his arm, then another; and it went on and on until his neck and arm and wrist were covered with snakes coiled around him. He stood up, and it was like he had two whips now – and one was alive and hissing.

“Jesus,” Dan whispered.

“Not quite.” Lucifer looked at them. “Although we’re related.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleansing the temple,” he answered before facing the curtain.

“Shit. Look, Le – Leonard, maybe we could…”

But Lucifer had turned his back on them. You could only hear the animals now, some scurrying about and others cooing softly from above. There was only eerie silence from behind the curtain.

“You should call for back-up,” he said, and with a yank tore the fabric down.

The snakes hissed louder, the doves were almost screeching now, and Ella gasped. In the low, reddish light, several young girls were waiting for, well. No need to ask. They were, most of them, very thin, their bones quite visible under mostly not-there clothing.

A man whose pale skin seemed covered with a sheen of sweat stepped forward. “That’s a slightly dramatic entrance, buddy.”

“I am not your buddy.”

“Certainly, certainly. But you need to relieve some tension, yes?” He glanced warily at the snakes in Lucifer’s hand, then at the upturned tables behind him. “Look here, none of them will resist, they’re kept weak enough to – ”

He never finished his sentence. Several birds dove on him and who knew pigeons could be so aggressive and, well, dangerous? Waving arms didn’t help, and their talons and beaks seemed more than enough to send him shrieking to the ground. Meanwhile, Lucifer hadn’t moved a muscle. Yet. The braided ropes were swinging gently from his fist, the only moving thing about him. It felt like a storm was brewing, and Chloe shivered. She didn’t think she could stop him, and to be honest she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

And then he went to town on whatever and whoever stood in his path, shoving those that had come to use the girls to the floor before glaring at them and somehow reducing them to tears; breaking furniture into kindling and grown men into sobbing messes. She didn’t raise a finger to stop him.

 

A team of officers and medics were swarming the big room under Dan’s direction. How much time had elapsed since Lucifer finally snapped? He’d disappeared, somehow, when back-up had started to pour in, although she didn’t know how or where. At the same time, Chloe realized Ella had also left the room. She hoped she was doing all right, she’d looked really shaken when the curtain came down – she hoped it wasn’t the last straw for her.

Before anything else though, she should do a quick debrief with the Lieutenant who’d just arrived. They hadn’t found exact proof of murder, but given what – and who – they had discovered, they had more than enough to put a lot of deserving people behind bars. Most of the people she’d met at the conference had been decent, but the two they’d been investigating and those that gravitated around them? Definitely, well, sinners. She shuddered. Those last two cases had been bad, honestly. She’d try and find her as soon as she’d done her first report.

 

Even though he had been filled with rage, Lucifer had still heard Dan call the precinct. He’d still heard the back-up he’d asked for arrive, and after letting the snakes slither down his arm into an empty terrarium he had made himself scarce while the douche, in full Detective Espinoza mode, was setting up a perimeter of some sort.

He wasn’t quite sure where to go though, and he didn’t feel like going back to his room, going back to Leonard Crown. Well, the charade was over now; but seeing the bibles and theology books, knowing the Detective’s things were just behind that thin wall through which he’d listened to her at night – turning the TV on, the water running in the shower, humming as she got ready for bed… he wasn’t ready for that. He knew he should probably hang around, that he’d have to fill some paperwork and maybe even write a report or at the very least talk to someone in charge. Probably explain why he’d laid waste to the conference room too, even if he knew he could easily get out of any reprimand.

He needed someplace quiet to cool down and collect himself, to go back to being Lucifer Morningstar and to try and brace himself for what was to come – he’d have to spend quite a lot of time with the Detective in the near future to wrap this case up properly. He finally decided to go to the little chapel in the hotel. It should be empty at this hour.

He heard someone blowing their nose when he got nearer. Bloody hell, some bigot was already in there. He didn’t feel up to being social, or pretending to pray. He peered into the gloom and finally spotted… Oh. It was Ms Lopez.

You could see the night sky through one of the window, but the street lamps outside were really the only thing to light the chapel, and dimly so. He thought he should, probably, talk to her. After all, she’d been the one to drag him into a church and remind him that, maybe, it didn’t need to be a disaster each and every time. He should, perhaps, return the courtesy.

Sitting next to her, he held out a fresh pack of tissues. “I thought this was your place of comfort,” he said. It was probably not the most tactful thing to say, but how could he know what he was supposed to tell her?

She crumpled the Kleenex already in her hand. “Sometimes, I think you have it right,” she murmured. “Even when things looked bad, I used to trust that it would all turn out well. That it would be all right in the end, you know?” She wiped her face and smeared some make-up on her cheeks. “But now… Now, I feel empty.”

“Resentful. You feel resentful.”

“Yeah.” He could hear her every gulp, her every shaky breath. “How can He let this happen, again and again? I believe, I do – but I wish I didn’t. I wish I could say it’s just fate or chance or…” Her whisper petered out.

“They will be punished, you know.”

“I know.”

“They won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“I know.” Her head lowered a bit more. “I just… what is faith’s worth, then?”

He rested his forearms on the back of the chair in front of him. “Would you like to have proof? Would you like to know, for good? To have your faith confirmed?” Not that he’d show her his true face, but… he could show her something, probably. How nothing could hurt him. Something.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Doubt is the point of faith, and proving it defeats the point. I just… have to make peace with it. Have faith that I will.”

He realized, then, how he could help her. He’d started to make peace with his father’s house thanks to her, started to come to terms with the idea that he could be welcome there, too; that he didn’t need to mock and be flippant but that he could, like everyone else whether they shared this particular faith or not, take some time off mundane life. He would probably pay for it, but she deserved it, didn’t she? She’d been here for the Detective when she’d needed friends because he’d ran away; she’d accepted him from the start; she’d helped him, too, when he’d asked.

Ah well, he’d always known his time on Earth would come to an end. He’d always known he’d have to go back to hell, to put that mantle back on again. He didn’t want to, but wouldn’t they all be better off without him anyway? Free of his celestial family meddling with their lives, of his cosmic-sized issues. The Detective would be free of him, and wasn’t that the best thing he could give her?

“I may be able to help you,” he finally said. Please father, let me still have this. Let me still use this, once more time.

“Help? How?”

“You need… you need light – well, Light. You need to feel divinity. To feel its warmth.” And even though he’d cut off his wings and removed most of it from himself he still had it. He still was an angel, the son of god. And maybe he was still the Lightbringer, the one that lit the skies and brought warm fire to every heart. He’d even stoked that fire when he gave an apple to Eve – because with knowledge came doubt, and with doubt came faith. And, aeons after aeons, that fire had passed from parents to children, and took many forms; shaped by circumstances and decisions made of their own free will.

Sometimes, humans lost that fire, they lost that drive. And sometimes, one of his siblings went out into the world, and brought kindling and blew on the embers and their hearts would be blazing again. But the spark, the original spark – that had been, and would forever, be his.

He would do that for her. He didn’t have anything good to give the Detective or her spawn, to gift to Dr Martin or Maze; but this… this, he would do. He’d give her what he still had in him, and he’d make her faith bright and beautiful and everlasting, to sustain her for the rest of her life. Whatever the consequences.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “And whatever you hear, don’t open them again until I tell you to.” She opened her mouth. “And no, it’s not hypnosis or anything like that.”

“I trust you.” Would she, if she knew?

He put his hands on her head and started chanting, low and guttural. A candle flickered, almost went out and started burning brighter than before, then a second candle. A third. Unlit ones suddenly were blazing, the cross above the altar began to glow. Even though you normally couldn’t really see the stars in Los Angeles, they were now illuminating the chapel.

He felt it, then. He felt something leaving him, and he felt it go into her, change until it was truly hers, until he couldn’t feel it anymore. And then he knew he’d done it, and when he blinked his eyes open he saw red, scarred hands on her hair.

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” he said. “How are you, now?”

There were tear tracks in the smeared mascara on her cheeks. “It’s… don’t know what you did, but thank you. Thank you. I feel – untwisted. Untangled? Better. Really.” Her arms moved.

“Don’t hug me, please.”

She laughed a little. “Yeah, you don’t much like that, do you? Unless it’s Chloe, I suppose.”

“Hey.” The Detective’s voice. “You okay?”

The candles had flickered out again and, coming from the well-lit corridor, she probably couldn’t see much yet; but he didn’t think he could face her, now. Not like this. Maybe not ever again, really; because he wasn’t sure he could recall his more angelic features now he’d used what heavenly spark he’d had left. He was all devil now. Hell’s ruler, albeit on vacation; _primus inter pares_ among its denizens.

“Ms Lopez. Don’t look until she’s here, all right?”

“Fine. Are you… Lucifer?”

Her voice was much fainter as he left via the service door, and when it closed behind him there was only the hissing of the AC in his ears.

 

Warm water had always been a comfort after the fall. His body on fire, his skin melting – even after he’d landed, even after he’d scarred, he could still feel it all. It was all still there: his long long scream in his ears; the heat searing his lungs; the smell of charred flesh, his flesh, in his nose. The pain. Oh, the pain.

The cold burned too now, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t have gone out into the freezing darkness of space to light more stars even if he’d wanted to, even if he’d still been able. But water – water fought the fire. It soothed him, whenever he needed it. Fire was supposed to be his element, but it was also his torment and his penance.

And now that he was stuck in that skin… He probably wouldn’t get out of his pool until one of his siblings arrived to take him back to hell; and then he’d spend the rest of all eternity in hell’s lakes and rivers, pretending they were filled with water.

There was a noise behind him and he sighed; settling his tumbler back on the floor behind him. He hadn’t expected one of the righteous children of god to be here so fast. Or to use the lift, unless it was Amenadiel – but his brother wasn’t in daddy dearest’s good books these days. Or maybe it was Maze? Or, dad forbid, mum?

“Why did you run away, _again_?” The Detective’s voice was both a balm and everything but.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Don’t come in.”

“Why, you haven’t cleaned under the couch lately?” Her footsteps came nearer and he closed his eyes, slid down the tiles to let the water cover him entirely. He didn’t want to see her shock, hear her fear, or recognize pity on her face.

Something disturbed the pool, and he blinked. Everything was a blur, until he felt a hand on his elbow tugging him up. She must have seen him; felt his rough, scarred skin at least. Why was she still here? His head broke the surface and there she was, bare feet in the shallow water on the top step, the bottom of her jeans rolled up on her ankles, her hands on her hips. “Detective…?”

“I talked to Maze, she said you’d probably be having a long broody soak if you were stuck in that skin.” He felt his lips part, but he wasn’t quite sure what he could really say apart from ‘but’ or ‘what’ or ‘huh’. “Are you finally ready to have that talk you owe me, now?”

He decided to go with “But…”

She sat on the edge of the pool. “For a long time, I thought that all your talk about being the devil was just that, talk. That you believed it, that you were not exactly lying but that it really meant something else. But there was always a weirdness around you, things that didn’t make sense. What you kept saying explained everything, but I’ve never had faith, you know? I still don’t, really. But now I’ve seen too much, and I don’t believe – I _know_. I know it’s real. Heaven and hell, demons and angels. You.” He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear, feel it like the softest blessing on his disfigured fingers, see her luminous eyes better. Bask in her presence. “But you didn’t really want me to know, did you?”

Her gaze was unwavering, even though he knew his eyes were full of fire and would bring most people to their knees, sobbing and begging. It didn’t affect her. _He_ didn’t affect her. Had he wanted to hide himself from her? She was waiting for an answer, of course. “Dr Martin didn’t take it well,” he finally said.

“You know, Trixie found out about Maze ages ago and didn’t bat an eye.”

He wanted to wrap his hand around one of her slim ankles. He didn’t. “Hm. She’s still a child. They’re much less susceptible to fearing us, I imagine.”

“Maybe.” She leaned forward and took the wrist he’d rested on his knee. “I hope I’m not hurting you?”

“Never.”

“Liar. Should I get my gun?” How could she be so calm, collected; how could she even joke? He didn’t know. She was a miracle indeed, and that – that was another can of wriggling, flesh-and-soul-eating maggots he didn’t want to open. She turned his hand palm up, let the pads of her fingers run over him. “You can touch me, you know.” Her eyes looked up from his burned flesh. “I’d like it.”

He couldn’t bring himself to getting closer or further away from her, he was stuck there like a planet orbiting its sun. He could only stare, and feel his fingers twitch when she stroked them, and breathe her in. He could only try and absorb all he could, store her memory carefully for the eternities ahead.

“Your eyes are still beautiful,” she said. “Your nose is still too long, your chin – ”

“My nose is _too long_?” She gave him her best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile, and he realized he was clutching her arm. He’d splashed water everywhere when he’d stood up. She’d gotten a rise out of him all right, and now he was naked and dripping all over her and she didn’t seem to care at all about the skin he was clad in. He released her arm. “You…”

“I saw you before, you know. This you. First when I was shot, but I reckoned I’d just been hallucinating; and just before you asked me to shoot you I saw your reflection, but I dismissed it too. I thought I’d let my imagination get the better of me, that all your talk had gotten to me. I made you bleed, after all.”

“What… what convinced you it was all true, then?”

“I saw you earlier, with Ella. I saw what you did for her. And then when I went home I spoke to Maze, and she called Linda, and we, well. We talked. They explained a few things, but also said there was stuff you should be the one to tell me about.” She handed him the towel he’d thrown to the floor before going into the water. He took it, buried his face in it for a second and then stood there, towel in hand. Rubbing this skin hurt; he’d planned on simply waiting for the water to evaporate with a drink or ten on his balcony, if he ever got out of the pool. But she looked at him as if she expected more than that.

“I’ve never really…” He shook the fabric. “Not with that skin.”

“Too sensitive?” He looked away. “Are you one of those people who try to scrape their skin raw after a shower?” She sighed. “You are, aren’t you.” She took the towel from him, and then… He looked down at her. She was gently patting his skin, her lower lip caught between her teeth as if he were made of delicate bone china and not a near-indestructible being. She was careful, so careful; he didn’t think she’d be more careful with even her own daughter. She started with his hand – each finger, then the palm, then the back; moved up to his forearm, up, up until she reached his shoulder. She was mindful of the places where the thinner skin had almost entirely burned away – his wrist, the inside of his elbow. He tried to tear his arm away from her when she made a little sound of disgust.

“It’s quite all right,” he murmured. “I know it’s not pretty.”

“What? No. It’s just, I wonder… In how much pain must you be, all the time? How could your own father do that to you? How…”

He tugged again. “I don’t want or need your pity.”

She still resisted. “It’s not pity, Lucifer. It’s…” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the tendons that were visible here and there where the skin had disappeared. “Can I go on?”

He nodded. His throat was so tight, he didn’t think he could talk. And so she continued; his other arm, his chest. She slipped behind him and he felt, he didn’t know. Breakable, certainly; but safe too. Her touch was so delicate he hardly felt it on his scars – but he did feel it, when she rested her forehead on his spine. When her mouth brushed the mangled, rough skin; when her breath made him shiver.

“Detective?” It sounded very loud, for a whisper.

“I’m here.” And she was back in front of him, and she knelt – she _knelt_! – and started on his thighs. He thought he’d cry when she glanced up at him before oh so gently wrapping the fabric around his – not his cock. His penis. His testicles. He didn’t feel any stirring, there was no burning desire; and yet he’d never felt… he didn’t know what it was. Constricting his chest and expanding his heart at the same time, he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

She finished with his feet, each toe delicately dried. He’d always had good balance, but at that moment the slightest breeze would have knocked him down.

“Why are you doing this? I don’t understand. Detective, I don’t _understand_.” Didn’t she say she wanted explanations? Wasn’t he supposed to tell her about, well, everything? Wasn’t she still angry at his evasions?

Her smile was really strange when she stood up again. “Of course I am, but I know I’ll get those explanations, now.” Oh. He’d said those things out loud. “And anger doesn’t wipe out everything else. Lucifer, you may not need pity, but you need… you need affection. Care.” She narrowed her eyes. “And sometimes a kick in the butt, but there are many people ready to do that already.” She tied the towel around his waist and picked up the tumbler and whisky bottle he’d been drinking in the pool. “Many people are willing to give you both, really; but you don’t believe it, do you. I guess there’s more where that came from, right?” She walked away and rummaged in his bar before extracting another glass and – oh. Nice.

“You’ve got a taste for the expensive.” He didn’t know he could sound so rough, but she didn’t seem to notice or, more probably, mind.

Yes, she was a miracle.

 

He followed her to the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto his balcony. As he opened them, he paused at their reflections in the panes – her, smart and beautiful and gentle and strong and just imperfect enough to be perfect; him, burned and ugly and the poster child for imperfection and disappointment. She saw him looking, and stepped next to his taller frame. The contrast terrified him.

“What are you so afraid of?”

He huffed, or he tried to. “I’m not afraid, it’s just… you’re just…”

“Lucifer.” She looked pointedly at the window, and he pushed them open and followed her outside, sat on the same chairs they’d sat on months ago when they’d shared burgers. “Now, there are many things we have to talk about. No more hiding. And we’ll see where we go from there, yes?” He nodded. What else could he do? “It’s all rather scary for me – I’m not scared of you or Maze, but I am of angels and demons, you know?”

“Not really.” He poured alcohol into the tumblers.

“I know you. I knew you before I learned who you really were. Not, well. Not all the rest. I probably don’t grasp what it all means, not quite yet at least. And there’s this thing, too. Maze said you’d explain.” She showed him a picture on her phone. It was the photo from the bar. “What was your brother doing with my mom?”

“It’s why I left.” Her gaze was steady. He was not. His voice was not. “My father sent Amenadiel to bless your mother so she’d conceive. Conceive you.” He downed his whisky in one go. “I felt… betrayed. Manipulated. After my own mum’s machinations… and then you. Your existence. Your freedom, too. I couldn’t stay. I wanted, oh, I wanted. I wanted too much.” The glass rattled on the table when he half-dropped it. “I left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, then?”

“You were dying, Chl – Detective.”

“Chloe’s fine, you know. Better than fine. And I was not-dying pretty soon after, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She looked out into the night – early morning, soon. “I understand. But you just ended up hurting you and me both instead of whatever it was you thought you were doing.”

“I did.”

“I thought – I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought you couldn’t cope with hard times. I thought you were afraid of the real thing, or that you’d realized you didn’t want it. Then, when Dan and Ella told me you looked like death warmed over when you came back with the formula, that it had all just been too much for you. And the worst was that, whatever the reason, you never said anything. You let me believe it was fine, that we’d talk; and it wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine, at all.” He looked down at his hands. “And when you came back and tried to pretend nothing was different…”

“What am I supposed to tell you, then? What am I supposed to do? I can’t make it better. I can’t change what I did. I can only hope, just hope, I won’t hurt you again; nothing more! I can’t promise anything. I can’t.” He was entirely lost. One moment she was dragging him out of the water, the next she was joking; one moment berating him, and then making him feel, feel… things. Things he didn’t know how to name or define or describe, things that he couldn’t quite decide he wanted to feel never again because they were terrifying, or forever because they were exhilarating.

But her… she only nodded, the corner of her mouth curving up a little. She looked, strangely… encouraging? “What about you, Lucifer? What should I know? What makes you angry, unhappy?” He must have looked as confused as he felt. “Things I do, things I’ve said.”

“Nothing.”

“Aw, come on. I know you hate how I drive.”

“But it’s you.” Her eyes on his face, on _that_ face, were very soft. They looked like they had when they’d almost kissed, right here – so long ago now, it seemed. Not so very long, really… But they hadn’t then, and they probably wouldn’t now. Ah, he still had to answer her. What could he say? Her hair fluttered a little in the cool, pre-morning air. “I don’t like it when you almost die.”

She smiled. “I don’t either. Especially since you tend to actually die then.” He jumped when she put a tumbler in his hands. He noticed they were shaking slightly. “Are you cold?”

“I… a bit.” He sipped some alcohol. He liked that burn still; it was one he chose.

“Why didn’t you say so, then?”

“You like being outside.”

“I do, yes, but this is silly.” She stood and made for his bedroom. He followed, of course. “You must have some warmer clothes somewhere, something soft on your skin.”

He scoffed. “I’ll have you know I only have good quality stuff in there.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“But since I’m already mostly naked, wouldn’t you rather…” He didn’t have any eyebrows left he could waggle a bit, but he still wanted… normal. He wanted to go back to simpler times, but the look she gave him clearly stated he was transparent.

“I can’t stay much longer, I want to be home when Trixie wakes up. Maze said she’ll take her to school so I can sleep, but I’d like to have breakfast with my daughter, just like every morning. I couldn’t when we were at that conference. And you look like you need to sleep, too.” She handed him boxers, and he dropped the towel to slide them on carefully before turning to face her better.

“I do? How could you tell, anyway?” He gestured at his face.

“You’re slightly slumped, you drag your feet a little… things like that.” She gave him a little shove and he found himself sitting on the bed, staring up at her and the soft cotton shirt she’d unearthed.

“Are you… are you playing mother with me?”

“You do need some mothering, I suppose. Do you want me to tuck you in? Tell you a story?”

He made a moue. “Please don’t.”

There was a mischievous little smirk on her face. “Didn’t your mom do that?”

“Ah, well. It’s complicated.”

“Linda said it was. We’ll talk more tomorrow, yes? Will you come to the station?”

“I can’t, Detective. Not like this!” Couldn’t she _see_ him?

She cupped his cheek, with only the slightest pressure as if she always took care not to hurt him. “Ah, yes. Might be hard to explain. I’ll tell the Lieutenant you’re under the weather and can’t leave home, and that I’ll go to you with a recorder and the paperwork when I get your stuff back from the hotel.” He grimaced. “Tomorrow evening, then? Right.”

She fished her car keys from her jacket, and his heart-rate sky-rocketed. “Wait! Wait. Where’s my phone?” He spotted his tweed jacket thrown on the armchair in front of the bed. She followed his gaze and handed it to him, eyebrows raised. “Right. Let me call a taxi for you. You’re too tired to drive safely.”

“I’m fine.”

“Detec – Chloe. Please. You even had some whisky earlier, and you’re not me. You can’t drink and not sleep, and still drive.”

She didn’t say anything about her own opinion of his skills, thankfully. “What about my car?”

“Don’t worry about your car, I’ll get someone to drive it back to yours, or I’ll ask Maze to help you out.” She wavered. “Let me do this for you?”

“Oh, all right.”

Just before she left, she dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. The ghost of her lips on him kept him awake for hours as the sun crawled up above the morning mist.

 

If she were honest with herself, he’d been right. She wasn’t fit to drive. She was exhausted, shaken, maybe a bit tipsy; and she’d spent an hour staring at the devil’s face. The devil’s face. The Adversary, Beelzebub, whatever – his burned, scarred face that made her want to scream and punch and beg and shoot someone (but not him. Oh, not him). It broke her heart. It still looked raw in places, raw and painful; and him so vain… He hadn’t said so explicitly, but he was clearly unable to go back to the one she was familiar with.

The driver kept silent, and she looked at the world outside of the quiet car: cleaning staff on their way to work, partiers stumbling back home, workers collecting garbage, drug addicts slumped in side streets, people walking their dogs and sex workers going home. And here she was, one tired detective, back from Satan’s penthouse where she’d (almost) tucked him into bed, where she’d patted him dry as carefully as she had Trixie when she’d been a baby with a painful, itchy rash. And, oh yes, her room-mate and occasional sitter was a demon, and she trusted her with her daughter’s life. She didn’t even doubt more strangeness would enter her life soon.

She hoped there’d be good surprises too, that they’d all find peace. They needed peace, all of them. She knew he hadn’t yet told her everything, but she knew he would, too. And she had to make up her mind about him, about them. He might have been the devil, but to her he was mostly… not that. Flawed, rash, in pain, but also fun, compassionate, and driven. A gifted pianist, definitely an addict, single-minded at times, arguably insane in human terms, in turn fascinated by and dismissive of mankind; preening one minute and whining the next, leaving all the boring paperwork to her then dropping everything to do the unthinkable for her.

And then… then there was his family. The manipulations he saw everywhere, his all-encompassing desire for freedom. His unshakable belief that he didn’t deserve her, that she wouldn’t choose him of her own free will. And that was the crux, wasn’t it? That was what she had to convince him of – once she was sure of her choice and, of course, if he didn’t decide to leave earth because he couldn’t stay with that face. The wonder and utter bewilderment in his striking fire-colored eyes whenever she looked at him and didn’t flinch, whenever she touched him and didn’t recoil… He didn’t want pity, but he did need _something_. He thought no one was ever kind to him without a purpose, that genuine affection without hidden motivations didn’t apply to him, and it was no way to live a life – especially an immortal one. But she didn’t want to lead him on and then realize being Satan’s girlfriend was just not something she could do after all.

She was glad to see her front door at last, because her thoughts were going in circles and she’d find no answers before hugging her little monkey, getting some proper food and finally, finally sleeping.

 

An olive-skinned guy was waiting for her when she got out at almost noon, leaning against her car. Lucifer had gotten someone to drive it back here then, as he’d promised.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. Name’s Immanuel.” He jiggled her key before handing it to her.

“Thanks. I’m Chloe, Chloe Decker.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

She felt he eyebrows go up. “I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard about _you_.”

“Oh, you have, but you haven’t realized it – yet.” He cast a quick look upwards. “Anyway, heard Sam – Lucifer call someone to drive your car back to you, so here I am.” He cocked his head. “I’m family.”

“Is this meant to be reassuring?”

He did have a nice smile, she thought. He looked like a workman, his hands callused and strong; not like Lucifer at all. “Not really, no; you’re right."

"Need me to drop you somewhere on my way?”

“Eh, the precinct’s fine; I’ll get Amenadiel to pick me up, I need to talk to him anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind, of course; I mean you don’t know me.”

“You know, I wasn’t worried before you said that.” She opened her door and slid in, then leaned to the passenger’s window. “You coming or what?”

He got in with a grin.

 

“So,” he said after he’d fiddled with the radio and hummed along and played with the electric car window – she could really see a resemblance with Lucifer here, really. “What are your intentions towards my brother?”

“Your brother, uh. How many of you are there, really?”

“Lots.”

“I had guessed as much, yes.” She shook her head. These people, they must like playing the mysterious angle sometimes. Dorks, really. “What do you mean, my intentions?”

“Um, you know.”

“Are you… are you trying to give me the ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ talk?”

“What? No, we can’t kill humans.”

“Still sounds like a shovel talk to me.”

“Well, he’s, ah. And you’re, er.”

“Uh huh.” Smooth talker, that one. “What, the devil and a human? A burn victim and a single mom? What?”

“He’s not, you know. Not really.”

“Not what, not the devil?”

“Well, that too. He’s more the slandered than the slanderer, really. But no, I meant, a burn victim. It’s not really – well, it’s real, but. He did it to himself. He could heal. He only has to want it, to believe he can.”

Chloe yanked on the wheel and changed lanes like she was competing at Indianapolis until she could park in the first side street she found. “Alright. Talk.”

He looked a bit white around his lips. “Was that necessary?” He looked out at the bins few feet away from the car like they would jump at him any moment now. “Has he said anything about when it happened?”

“No.” She thought for a moment. “Just that he only wanted to be his own man. That it was the grandest fall ever, or something like that.”

Immanuel snorted. “Sounds like him. Yeah, he and dad… they argued a lot. He was jealous, I think.”

“Jealous?”

“Dad spent a lot of time working on mankind, and Lucifer… you know, he always was the one who, who felt the most, I’d say. When we were still very young, he could never stand being alone. But then our father started spending more and more time on you, and mom got bitter, and they both neglected us. We were old enough to cope, all of us, and we did; except for Lucifer. They fought and fought, and it got really ugly; until one day when they were near the cliff drop. It was even more bitter than usual, and Lucifer slipped and… that was that. We all thought he’d fly back up, but he caught fire and just went down.” He shuddered. “And down again.”

“But… no one went after him?”

“Dad said we should let him cool down, and by the time we tried to communicate, he’d shut himself down in hell. We could have forced the gates open, of course; but it would have been counterproductive.” She gave him her best ‘not buying it’ cop glare. “Well, that’s what father said. After a while, we let it be. Some of us thought he’d gone too far anyway, and only got his just deserts. Only time they reopened is when Amenadiel took our mother down and then when he left hell.”

“But… why did he burn, then?”

“I think he thought he deserved it for fighting with dad. He didn’t fight the fall, he didn’t try to use his wings; not even to protect himself. And then, he could still have healed. He still is an angel, he still has his light. But I think he believes it’s all been taken away from him. He probably hasn’t even tried.”

“He cut off his wings.”

Immanuel shook his head. “He did, the idiot. Stupid move. But very him, too. Did you know Lucifer is not his birth name?”

“No. What is it?”

“Samael.” He sighed. “His wings… they were the most beautiful, you know? They shone. And they’re just right there, too, if he wants them. Father doesn’t know what to do to mend the past, but my brother burns bridge after bridge. He’s so full of anger and resentment, nothing reaches him.” He looked at her. “Except you.”

“Lucifer said I was born because god sent Amenadiel to bless my mom.”

“Yeah. He thought someone who would not be susceptible to his, well, to _him_ could build a rapport with him, maybe. I don’t think he planned on anything more than the possibility of a genuine friend. You’re still free, you know. Freer than most, maybe.”

“That’s not how he sees it.”

“No, it’s not. He always expects the worst, now. You know, he used to be… he used to be the brightest of us. He laughed the most and he loved the hardest and he went out the furthest, back when he lit the stars. Now… ah, now.”

“Why aren’t your parents just sitting him somewhere so they have their talk at last? I thought your mother was around here.”

“His, yes; but she’s, well. I got a second one when I came to earth and I like her much better, so… what?”

Chloe thought her eyes were about to fall from her head. “You’re Jesus?”

“Ugh, you guys just keep butchering it. Trust me, Immanuel is fine.”

“My god, you’re _Jesus_.”

“Well, yes, no, and – oh father. Kissing the devil, no problem; chatting with me, instant meltdown. I spent more than 30 years as one of you and yet you’re all still as confusing as ever, really.”

“Well I didn’t know he was the devil when I kissed him!”

“Now you do and you still want to.”

She remained quiet for a while. He wasn’t wrong, she did want to. But should she? An angel with PTSD of biblical proportions (of course) and daddy issues the size of a planet; and her with a little girl who needed stability and nurturing. “It’s not only about what I want.”

“You do realize that half the heavenly host is already smitten with your daughter, yes? And the other is only pretending they’re not because they don’t want to look like they’re rooting for you.” He punched her shoulder lightly. “You can get angels coming down from the sky to beat good sense into every jerk who’d look at her askance, you know that?”

“I’ve already got one demon, I think.”

“And one devil.”

She smiled. “He’d never own up to it.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” she agreed. After all, he’d put the fear of, well, Satan in a bully on day one for her.

He scratched his beard with a hum. “You’re going to be very late,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t really answered my question, either.”

“I guess I haven’t.” She put the car in reverse and backed out of the street. “He hurt me too, you know.”

“But you forgave him.”

Did she? She understood why he’d acted the way he had, and knowing him she wasn’t sure what else he could have done. But she trusted him to try and not make the same mistakes again, and that was probably better than simple forgiveness: the drive to be better, to do better trumped every ‘I’m sorry,’ in her book. She didn’t resent him anymore. Maybe that was it: maybe that was forgiveness. But it felt much bigger.

She had a phone call to make once she got to the station.

 

Linda contemplated how to approach him as her Uber weaved through traffic. It probably would not be an easy session, but at least she’d meet Maze down in Lux afterwards. She’d probably need a drink or five, and someone to get her back home who was immune to alcohol. She closed her eyes and tried to center herself.

The elevator opened on a dark penthouse. The only light was coming from the evening sky outside and the back-lit wall of booze. She followed the clink of glass and found him in an armchair near his floor to ceiling bookshelves.

“Hello, Doctor.” He gestured at another chair.

“Hello, Lucifer. Can I turn on a lamp?”

“I’d rather not.” Well, they were starting off really well. “Would you like a drink?”

She could make out a second tumbler on the low table between them. “No, thank you. Why would you rather not?”

She heard his ring tapping lightly on his – whisky, probably. “I think you know why.”

“Humor me.”

“You didn’t react well last time.”

“Yes, well. I really wasn’t expecting… that. And everything else, too. Now I do. Heaven and hell; god and devil, demons and angels; got it. It would be useful to me as your therapist to see your reactions.”

A long sigh. “If you insist.”

She heard him get up. His silhouette was all wrong, but she only realized why when he clicked on a little lamp on his desk. The room remained dim, but it was still better than before. Now, she could do more than distinguish an outline; and she tried to keep her face expressionless. She’d only ever seen him naked or wearing a suit, not soft-looking tracksuit bottoms and what looked like an old, well-worn, long-sleeved t-shirt. He turned back to face her, and didn’t move for a few seconds. He was studying her face, too. Gaging her reaction. “Not your usual clothes.”

“Yes, well.” He finally sat back in his armchair; a bit gingerly, she thought.

“Are you in pain?”

He cocked his head. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re being evasive.” The reddish glow of his eyes diminished a little when he narrowed them. “You’re not wearing your usual clothes. You’re holding yourself more stiffly than usual, you’re careful not to lean on the backrest. You’re cagey.”

He slammed his tumbler back on the table. “Yes, it’s painful. Is that what you wanted to hear? It’s painful, and it terrifies everyone – well, everyone but the Detective – and it’s a constant reminder of what I’ve become, and now I’m stuck in this skin. There, are you happy?” He was breathing harshly. She knew he hated these outbursts, but it needed out. So many things needed out.

“Why are you stuck?”

“Because…” he leaned forward as if to rest his elbows on his knees, and recoiled with a weary hiss. “Bloody hell. I used whatever grace I had left, and now I can’t put my more palatable face back on. The mask is broken, if you will; and now…”

“What did you use it for?”

He zeroed in on her. “I imagine you’re here because the Detective told you why I’d canceled, right? Didn’t she tell you the rest?”

“She asked whether you had canceled your next appointment, and when I said that you had she told me you were not looking your usual self at the moment, and that you probably needed me to come to you rather than the other way around.” He didn’t seem convinced, but let it go. “So?”

“Ms Lopez was having a crisis of faith. I, well. I sorted it out for her. Hence…” He waved a hand at his face.

“And since then, you’ve been unable to go back. I assume you’ve tried?”

“Why no, I haven’t; I so enjoy _reliving the worst moment in my very long life with every breath I take!_ ” The bulb in the desk lamp fizzled and died. It seemed very loud in the sudden silence.

“Your other appearance is not painful, then?” He made a sound between an annoyed whine and a sob. “But you said it is like a mask, so it shouldn’t made the pain disappear, I think. It should only be about appearance.” It was markedly closer to a sob now. “I remember you never seemed bothered by any kind of touch, that you even enjoyed being scratched. And now you can’t even properly sit without being in pain.” He stood up and started to pace like a caged panther, to the bookshelf then his bar then the piano then back to her, and again. She raised her voice a little. “Are you sure it’s just a mask, Lucifer? Are you sure it’s not just as real? Or more real, maybe?” This time he didn’t go back near her but hurried outside on the balcony. She joined him. “Why didn’t you heal afterwards?”

He turned to loom over her. “I defied god, Doctor. It’s a punishment. _My_ punishment, for all of eternity! I’m the one who is to forever burn in hell, even after I’ve escaped it. I punish the sinners, because I recognize me in them. Because I _know_ punishment, in my very flesh. _That_ flesh!”

“But who punished you?” He didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t even breathing, she realized. “Him, or you?”

The night had fallen by now. The moon was faint, hanging low above the horizon. The only stars in the sky were probably those of planes; it was, after all, Los Angeles. She waited. You can't become involved in the patient’s life, they’d said. You can’t take it all to heart or it’ll destroy both you and them. Keep the job distant from you; her teachers, her books had said. Hah. There hadn’t been anything about the patient being – not so much the devil, but just – him. Lucifer Morningstar, aka Satan, aka Samael, aka someone she’d had sex with, someone whose heart she’d shocked back into life, someone who’d punched a hole in her wall and eaten her candy, someone who’d wormed into her own life and brought along with him so many people she couldn't imagine leaving behind. And she hoped, oh, she hoped she could help him. He shouldn’t have been, but he was, her strongest and most fragile patient.

“Get out,” he whispered at last. “Please.”

Make that ten drinks, she thought as the elevator took her back down to Lux.

 

Just as she looked up from Dan’s text that all was well with Trixie tonight, Chloe saw Linda walk out of the elevator and make a beeline for their table. She looked a bit rattled. Well, who was she kidding – they all were. Linda sat and knocked down the shot of vodka Maze set in front of her.

“Maybe don’t go up quite yet,” she told Chloe.

“All right.”

Ella shook her head. “Dude’s a hot mess, right?”

“In so many meanings of ‘hot,’ yes. Ah, before I forget…” Linda fiddled with something around her neck and held something out to Ella.

“Oh, you kept it! Thanks!” She held it out carefully in the palm of her hand. “It was my grandmother’s, you know? Oh, you had it fixed too!”

“It could still be worn, you know. And you’d have regretted it if you’d left it at the bar.”

“I sure would. You’re awesome, really.” Maze seemed to approve of the sentiment, if not of the cross; and bent to whisper something in Linda’s ear. A blush crept up her neck and cheeks.

“How are you, Ella? Really?”

“Eh, I’m fine.” She patted her collarbone where the pendant rested. “Thanks to you all, really. And him,” she added with a wave to the ceiling.

“Which him?” Chloe asked.

“Um. Both, I guess? Yeah, both.”

“You’re taking it pretty well. In my professional opinion.”

“C’mon doc, you’re not at work anymore.” Maze gestured at the bartender. “We’re here to have fun and, what is it they say? Let our hair down.” She did something to Linda’s bun and blonde locks cascaded around her face. “There,” she said as she slammed a distinctly knife-shaped hairpin on the table.

“You guys are cute,” Ella said. Two satisfied smiles bloomed in answer. “But, yeah. I mean, I know I shouldn’t have peeked, and it was a bit scary; but… it doesn’t negate my faith after all, you know? Faith that there’s a plan, that there’s something to hope for, faith there’s forgiveness to be had.” She smiled at manbun when he brought fresh drinks to their tables. Chloe noticed he was wearing a Greek cross himself.

“On the house for you ladies,” he said. “Boss’s orders.”

Chloe looked up into the gloom, hoping and dreading to see him. It wasn’t like he’d never acted rashly, after all. But there were no red pinpoints of light lurking in the shadows and she went back to her friends, her drink and their girl-only night out. Might be some boy talk tonight, she reckoned from the way Ella kept checking manbun out. Good for her.

 

The buzz from the alcohol she’d imbibed wasn’t enough to make her forget she was going up to the penthouse even though Linda had advised caution. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Maybe nothing, maybe no one.

As the evening before, it was all rather dark and quiet; but still she could see well enough to make out an upturned barstool and some broken glass on the floor. Not a lot, not as if there had been a fight, not far enough to have been thrown in anger either; but she’d never known Lucifer to be clumsy, especially with his drink.

The sounds of the city night were coming through the open windows, faraway and softened by the height of the building; and she followed the distant, muffled car engine purrs and the muted shouts of garbage men. She walked over torn fabric dropped near the couch, a book that looked old enough to belong in a temperature- and humidity-controlled case in a museum closer to the balcony doors. She found him there, smoking, chain-smoking even given the state of the ashtray.

“Hi,” she said.

“Detective,” he answered.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head. “There’s broken glass in there.”

He shrugged. “I’ll pick it up later.”

“I can do it for you. You’re barefoot.” And bare everything, she didn’t add.

“Leave it. I have cleaning staff for the entire building anyway, you don’t need to pick up after me.” She raised her eyebrows. She’d had to do some damage control a few times after he’d been his rash and brash self on the job before. He misinterpreted her expression. “Would you rather I put on some clothes?”

“No! It’s not… Well, no, I mean, yes. No! Um. This didn’t come out as it should have.” She smiled, feeling a bit rueful.

“Make up your mind, Detective.” Even his burned features could show his own amusement, too.

“I just meant, I don’t mind if you’re more comfortable naked.”

He turned back to look at the streets down below, long lines of white and red and yellow lights crisscrossing in an endless grid, encasing patches of darkness where the mundane was cohabiting with crime and sin.

Her gaze followed his at first, but then went back to him. In the shadows, outlines were not as sharp as they would be in the daylight; but it was good enough to see his red and black skin, to see the fiery glow of his red, otherworldly – literally otherworldly, of course – eyes.

“Lucifer,” she said.

“Hm?” He focused back on her, and she wasn’t afraid of him, and she wasn’t afraid of _them_. She took his hand in hers, slipped her fingers between his, careful not to squeeze – just a graze of skin on scarred skin.

“Lucifer. Don’t go away this time. Please?”

“Go away?”

“I… I’d like you to stay. With me.” She felt his palm get closer, then curl around hers.

“How can I stay, with this face?”

“We’ll figure it out. Or – or maybe there’s a way for us to meet; I mean you did go to hell and came back, yeah? Maybe I can too.”

“No! No way, Detective.”

“ _Chloe_.”

“Chloe,” he whispered. “All right. Chloe…”

She tugged gently on his arm and he lowered his head, his bald and almost skinless head, until she could cup her free hand on the back of his skull and pull him down to her lips. He recoiled when his mouth brushed hers, though.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. But I, I’m not. You can’t. You can’t.”

“I can’t what? Why?”

“Because…” He waved at his face. “Because of that. You deserve – ”

“I really wish you’d stop it with these strange ideas you have of what I do and don’t deserve, you know.”

But…” This time she didn’t let him finish and kissed him again. Caught as he was between her palm and her lips… he couldn’t escape, really. After a while, she felt a gentle touch on her cheek, then her neck. “Your skin is so soft,” he breathed against her. She smiled.

Little by little, she led him to his bedroom; step by step, inch by inch. She just had to lean back a little, to skim a hand against his side, his hip; and he’d follow. She thought he’d follow her anywhere, really.

When he realized where they were, at last, he stared around him with a hint of wonder and a lot of joy in his wide eyes. _Really?_ They seemed to say. _Really!_

“Yes, really,” she answered.

There too, there were signs of… something. A bedside lamp broken on the floor, a cracked window pane – she wondered what could have done that to the thick, tempered glass. She put one of his hands, still long-fingered and graceful even in their burned state on the top button of her shirt; and with an almost shy look he undid it, then the one under, then under again and again when she smiled encouragingly at him. She quickly removed her boots, he opened her fly; bolder now. She shimmied out of her pants and underwear, he unclasped her bra, she toed off her socks – and immediately stepped on something pointy and sharp. She didn’t have time to think much more about it though, because he was pushing her down on the bed and crawling over her, kissing his way up her body back to her lips.

Something soft and feathery tickled her neck, and as she took the hair band off she also removed whatever it was – oh. An actual feather, it seemed. It gave off a faint glow in the dark room. She looked at it, then at him.

“Lucifer.” He was studying the pillowcase under her with great intensity. “Lucifer, what happened after Linda left?” He shrugged, and she’d have sworn he looked embarrassed. “Come one, tell me.” She ran the feather on his temple. “Are those back, then?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Stop being sorry, and talk to me. Why do you still wear this face, then? This skin? Isn’t it painful?”

He still wasn’t looking at her. “Not anymore. I just…” He sighed.

“Was this a test? Of me?”

“No. Yes. Partly?” She frowned. “It’s my worse self, and I…”

“Lucifer, you should know by now I don’t really care. What else?”

He gestured at the broken lamp. “It seems I’ve forgotten what it’s like, how much room they take, how they move.”

“So what, you stumbled around flapping your giant wings and broke stuff until you couldn’t take the humiliation anymore and you switched back to this?” She tried not to laugh at his pained expression. “That’s kind of cute, in a way. I’d like to see them, you know? When you feel up to showing me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you?”

“I don’t know.” He shifted his weight from one forearm to another. “Another cosmic joke at my expense and yours from my father, perhaps.” She felt warm fingers wrap around her shoulder. “I am what I am, and I am my father’s son whether I like it or not; but hurting you…”

“You did before, when you left, when you came back. We all do, we all hurt each other. Even, or especially, when we try not to. Show me,” she said. The rough, scarred skin on his thigh was almost scratchy against hers when she curled her leg to try and pull him closer.

He took a deep breath, and released it slowly; his eyes locked onto hers and she saw them go from red to brown; she saw his entire self, the air around him, blur. There was light then, a soft star-like luminescence; and a familiar face looking down at her, stubble and all.

And there were two wide, magnificent – if ungroomed – wings, the color of the purest snow, their ends brushing the floor, their span about the size of the room when they stretched as if waking up from a long sleep. She looked up in wonder at the feathery canopy above them. Words escaped her; she might have settled on ‘my god’ if it hadn’t been the worst thing to say at that moment.

Her gaze went back to his face, somehow a bit anxious now. “Most humans lose their sanity when they see them.” His voice was warm and low, as much a cocoon as the wings themselves. “But you, you’ve always been different, haven’t you?”

One of the wings folded on itself slowly, like he was afraid he’d do something wrong; until it curved enough to caress her side. It felt like… like she imagined clouds felt like. Not like a bird, not like anything she knew. But mostly, she felt awe.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”

“Love, I’m an angel; _I_ shouldn’t be possible,” he said; and his smile, just before he bent his head and kissed her throat with more reverence and care and wonder than she’d ever held her daughter with, was more brilliant than the sun at noon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Potential trigger warnings: mostly in the background case.  
> \- eating disorders being used to manipulate young girls (including suicide & prostitution)  
> \- mention of child trafficking


End file.
